The Heir
by kodomo wa oishii
Summary: what if Harry got letters from a death eater and a head of an ancient and noble house? how would he change? possibly slash. dark sirius and severus but not on voldie's side. please read and review. better sum in 1st chap. ON HOLD REWRITES
1. Chapter 1

AN: this story has been rumbling around i wanted to get it out. basic: dumbles don't finish the wards and harry gets the letters. but his favs are from a former death eater and a head of a house. how will these letters change Harry?

Warnings: sirius is dark and the head of black house.

severus is dark but on the side of the light but is dark

**possibly **eventual slash

no lily didn't give up magic, they just made that story up. you'll understand later(if u read the chap/story)

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><p><em>Spawn of Potter, <em>

_I shall admit I have no reason for writing this letter; no doubt Albus has erected wards to prevent the empty words of your undying fans to inflate your ego, which no doubt will still be as large as the black sea. _

_It is odd, I must admit to be writing this letter, and I cannot explain it except that a feeling propelled me to write to you. _

_I hold empathy for you; I shall never feel sorry for you but I will feel regret for my actions. It is my fault that your parents are dead. I must say that I did not plead for your life or your father's, but I did plead for your mother's. They say it was her love that saved you. I hold no misconceptions that she did no love you, but I was there when other mothers and fathers tried to sacrifice themselves to save their child. None have succeeded. So I feel compelled to ask, what is so special about you?_

_But alas, my questions shall never be answered for you will grow up to be a blithering idiot. Yet I can't help but want to see the man you will turn out to be. I want to see what the boy-who-lived will turn out to be. Against my will I hold hope for you and that you will be fairly competent and not like your father._

_Try not to crush my ill-placed aspiration too much._

_Retired death eater,_

_S.S._

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><p><em>Potter Heir,<em>

_I do not care for you or your parents but I feel I must explain myself for why I'm not there to take care of you. No doubt Dumbledore is happily sucking on those infernal muggle candies with joy._

_It was a game to me, to pass off as a Gryffindor when I was truly a snake. I threatened the hat to put me in the house instead of my rightful home in Slytherin. It was fun, being able to prank, the lighthearted ones and the crueler, more satisfying ones. Your father, also a prankster, contacted me and we joined together with two others. As typical Gryffindors, the three thought of us as best of friends, not unlike adoptive brothers. I knew about little whiny Peter being a death eater and that is why I feel the need to explain myself. For it is my fault that your parents died at the hands of the dark lord._

_I knew he was a lowly death eater but I also knew he was a spineless rat. I thought I knew his character when I guessed he was to scared to even utter a sound near the dark lord or that he was even in contact with him, I thought he was so low that he never saw or talked to the dark lord, but it seemed I was wrong. Like the game I was playing with your father's feelings, I wanted to play with the dark lord. I knew he was after your family and what better way to mess with him then to have one of his men know the location of those he found impossible to find? One that was to scared to speak up? It would be right under his nose and I was going to watch how my 'prank' worked out and played into a bigger plan._

_I know now that I was wrong. I feel sympathy for you. Not that irksome pity you will no doubt get when you enter our world. No, I do not pity you._

_I was enraged; I wanted to kill the rat. How dare he mess up my plans? So I went off to kill him. Yet as the sneaky whiny rat he was, he escaped and blamed the death of muggles on me. Knowing I would be convicted, I left._

_I have one more thing to say before I end this letter. You are strong. Your mother, Lily, was not as strong as you; yes she was strong willed, but not magically strong. I wish to see how you end up. Hopefully better than your parents or the sniveling rat._

_Become the true Potter Heir._

_Do not waste my hope,_

_S.B._

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><p>Colors whirled around, lighting up the night sky. Petunia woke up when a bright flash of pink passed by a window facing the king sized bed. Startled, she went outside to see what was going on. She had her money on Mrs. Fixture's boy. Dying his hair blonde, next he'll be getting tattoos and setting fire to her daisies! Sure of what was going on, she grabbed the bat Vernon always left in the hallway by the stairs.<p>

Silently walking down the stairs, she positioned the bat in the standard swinging position. With the bat grasped firmly and resting on her shoulder, she unwrapped one hand from the bat and opened the door only to see a much more horrifying scene than what the Fixture boy could ever do to her daisies.

There, standing in neon yellow and purple dress like thing, was a man with wiry white hair and long beard, waving around a stick. She paled, the blood leaving her head so fast she felt faint. There, in front of her house was a wizard. Doing _something_ to her house. No doubt trying to cause trouble or mess up her good lawn and flowers.

It seemed the man finally noticed her standing in the doorway.

"Ah, Petunia dear!" who was this freak and how did he know her name? If it was a he at all? "I'm almost done setting up the wards to the house! You see, young Lily died late this evening and as the closest blood relative, you must take in young Harry!" was he crazy? Telling her happily that her sister died and she now had to take care of the child. Petunia quickly decided that yes, this man was crazy. But more importantly, how did he find them and didn't he know that Lily out grew that freakishness and settled down with a nice policeman named James?

No matter. She wouldn't stand for this freakishness and she wouldn't let her nephew be exposed to the freak. It was a proven fact that it was contagious, just look at her sister. Luckily it was curable.

"Now see here you law breaker! I want you off my property at once or I'm calling the cops and getting the gun!" she yelled.

The man-thing got a distressed look in his eyes.

"Madame you don't seem to understand-"

"I understand just fine now get!" she ran up to the man and swung the bat near the man's face and genitals.

Not wanting to hurt the women, the old man fled without completing the wards.

Once the man left, Petunia walked over to the basket on the doorstep and picked it up and looked at her nephew. She saw the scar on his forehead and made her decision right there.

Her nephew obviously had been exposed to the freaks too long and now she needed to fix him. With that, she entered the house, never noticing the two owls that swooped overhead and dropped letters into her nephew's basket, getting lost in the folds of the blankets.

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><p>god i hate spell check and writing in the edit section. sorry for the first one. please review.<p> 


	2. the dictionary and garbage

AN: best way to start a chapter? With the cheery Severus Snape of course!

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><p><em>Spawn of Potter,<em>

_It has been one year since you have disappeared from the wizarding world yet I know you are at least alive; every chance I get to sneak a peak over the old man's shoulder I do, just to see if the globe tracking your magic is still glowing blue. So knowing you are alive, I will not bother asking you if you are well. I doubt those horrible muggles-yes Potter those are your relatives, they are known as muggles, beings without magic- are overly concerned over your health._

_While you sit and do nothing, I must grade first year essays over the effect of chopping not dicing. It seems everyone knows the difference and those who don't shall fail my class anyway, I see no point in keeping it in my syllabus. _

_Ah, I can see your expression right now. If I shall die before you vanquish the dark lord it will not be without me teaching you at least the most basic potions knowledge._

_When you dice an ingredient, the more fluids that come out. This fluid is part of what reacts with the actual potion, the solid ingredient is only one part of what it is asking._

_In simpler terms, when it says 'chop', they want more solid and less fluid. But when they say dice, they want more fluid and smaller solid bits. They way you cut the ingredient changes the potion drastically._

_Done with trying and probably failing (due to your natural Potter brain) at teaching you the subtle art of potions, I must leave you with a warning._

_If I live to see you in my class, make sure you know the difference between the ways to cut an ingredient. Or I shall skin you alive and hang you up by your tendons._

_S.S._

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><p><em>The Potter Heir,<em>

_Damn my impulses. For they are the reason I am writing to you. The werewolf, one of the beings your father picked up when we went pranking, is ignoring me. I have never realized how much I relied on him to be sane and sadly now that he is gone, the Black curse is shifting and creeping upon me. To avoid the madness, I have decided to write to you; on an impulse I feel the need to remind you, so you don't end up like your father; dependent on me and god forbid, think I hold affection for you._

_Today they are holding a special edition of the daily prophet, telling of your 'great dead' to the rest of society. Also known as the day you became an orphan. I am feeling slightly nostalgic on this day so I shall tell you about your parents. I must warn you that you shouldn't expect anything like the worshiped praises others would be more than happy to shove down your throat._

_Where to begin? Your mother was born to filthy muggles but her magical prowess more than made up for her lack of a magical background. She had red hair, much unlike the orange mop of a Weasely, and dull green eyes. Most would say you have her eyes. This, I assure you, is a lie. Your eyes are much more vibrant than hers ever could be. In school she was a know-it-all and refused to break even the smallest of rules. A fact that had her hating your father's guts for many years._

_Now your father was childish at heart. He never grew up at his time at Hogwarts until the very end of his sixth year when I tried to kill another student. He loved practical jokes and goofing off, yet he could maintain perfect grades, minus the occasional low scoring potions score. He had a mean streak and it drew me towards him yet he was a Gryffindor to the core. A pity really, he put his friends before himself and got more detentions because he felt as my 'friend' he should be blamed for my own more vicious pranks._

_Your grandparents were odd but a nice old couple that took me in when I 'ran away' from home._

_The madness is receding and so I shall end this letter._

_You are just a simple impulse,_

_S.B._

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><p>Petunia had actually cared for her nephew, he was a smart and bright boy, but her husband had known of the freakishness that his mother had possessed and had punished the boy for it, saying that it would be better to keep the boy away from their son until he knew their was no more magic left in the boy. Yet she knew he had no intention of ever treating her nephew right and she had spoken out against her husband and learned never to speak against him again.<p>

She was powerless to protect her only living blood relative. She had saved herself in her son from her husband's wrath; but now all she had to do was find a way to make her nephew's imprisonment easier on the poor boy.

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><p>The webs stuck to his skin, clinging to him as if to hold him back, to detour him from the quest ahead of him. He paid no mind to the webs and brushed them off easily, occasionally pulling at the more stubborn threads.<p>

He shifted from where he was kneeling in front of the keyhole, his eye lined up to the little space of light. Squinting, he watched the blurry forms move about the house, sitting, standing, walking, and eating.

With the mention of food, he couldn't stop his stomach from giving a unhappy rumble, the sound moving throughout the house, making the blurs all around the table stop and look towards his cupboard.

Panic welled up within him, they were going to find him, and they were going to block his light! Scrambling up from his knees, the little two year old urged his awkward, slightly pudgy, legs to move faster as he half stumbled half ran to the little cot under the burnt out light bulb.

"Freak!" Hearing the thundering stomps and the loud voice of his uncle, he quickly fought with the uncorrupting blankie and managed to tangle himself up enough in it just in time for his uncle to throw the door in, letting it bang against the small dusty wall of the cupboard.

His uncle's voice rang loud and clear, a deadly tone to the words. "Freak what is with the noise? Were you trying to get out? I swear if you were…"

He didn't dare look up from under his blankie, more than content to hide in a little ball from his uncle. He didn't want to be punished for looking at his uncle in the eyes again. His bum still hurt from the leather of his uncle's belt from the last time.

"Freak! Answer me!" Screamed the man, as he lashed out, stomping on the boy's back.

"AH! Y-yes uncle V-vernon." His voice came out shaky and with a certain rasp. He gasped in air quickly, wanting to catch his breath from having the wind knocked out of him.

"You will not eat or be let out for two days Freak." Once again his door was slammed closed and locked, leaving him surrounded by darkness. The thuds of his uncle's feet padding away were soon faint and in the distance, far away from his cupboard.

Even though he knew the eminent danger was gone, he still stayed curled in a little ball for many minutes, counting the seconds as time passed by and the family cleaned up and settled down for nightly television. He stopped counting when the television was turned on and instead listened to the voices and noises coming from the telly. Soon he was satisfied with the amount of time that had passed and he slowly pushed himself up and untangled himself from the blanket and neatly folded it into a square; making sure the name_ Harrison J. Potter_ faced up towards the cobwebbed ceiling.

Slowly he touched his feet to the floor, mindful of the few squeaking boards. Once his weight was completely on the floor, he quietly maneuvered himself over to the little basket he had half hidden behind a small wooden shoe cubby that he had changed the function to that of a desk.

Moving the cubby to the side, he reached out and picked up the desk and reached for the two worn pieces of parchment he was so familiar with.

He had long ago lost the envelopes for the letters but those he didn't need anyway, but these letters, he didn't think he could survive without them.

He couldn't read what the words were, only able to sound out a few of the more simpler words thanks to his tutoring from Mrs. Kinsey at the pre-school he was attending with Dudley. But it didn't matter, these people knew his name and didn't call him freak and if his guesses were right, had hope in him. for what, he didn't know, but the fact that someone, two of them actually! Were out there and thinking about him, it was more than even his dreams could imagine.

Carefully, he unrolled the two letters, running his hands over them to get rid of wrinkles and creases from the paper. He let his eyes rove over the letter and once again he tried to decipher more letters, trying to string them together to create familiar words. It was probably of no use, he did this every day and night and the problem wasn't that he couldn't read, it was that he didn't understand some of the bigger words and he was to scared to bring them to school unless something would happen to his treasures.

Reading the two letters final letters on both of the pieces of paper, he felt all the more determined to escape his cupboard tonight.

Suddenly he heard a creak near his little space and as quickly as he could manage with out making to much noise, he re-folded his letters and stashed them away in the little basket and moved the cubby back over his treasures.

Once finished with that, he practically flung his body at the little cot, and once again wrestled with the blanket, trying to get covered with the piece of fabric.

He then heard footsteps walking past his cupboard and up the stairs next to the little locked room. The footsteps went right above his head and then were completely gone. He didn't dare breathe for several moments. Sure now that he wouldn't be caught, he released the breathe he was holding.

He knew it would take several hours before he could escape from his prison, a word he had learned last week and found very fitting for this house he was occupying space in. he wasn't living, he couldn't live in this space; he was merely surviving. It was all he had ever known.

He passed the time by playing with the spiders, they would walk on his hand while he moved his hand into different positions and some would weave little webs around his fingers, connecting them to each other. One even mimicked a tightrope act.

Be the time he was done giggling at the antics of his little friends, it was well into the night and perfect for escaping.

He moved towards the lock door and closed his eyes in concentration. In the letter it said he had magic, that the writers of those letters had magic and that his parents had magic. He had to say, it made things a lot clearer now.

With his knowledge of past freak accidents of magic he had performed and the added awareness that he actually could do magic and he just wasn't insane, he concentrated and thought only of the lock, of forcing his magic through the tiny lock and moving the gears until it would click open. He had the odd sensation of déjà vu, and was on the verge of losing his concentration, his mind trying to push up the memory and the word that was haunting him.

"_Alohomor-"_ No! he felt the magic drain from around the lock. He had it almost open, he could feel it, but that damn word had clawed it's way out of his subconscious and he knew that it was lost, his concentration had been broken.

"_Alohomora!"_ He spat, desperately wishing the lock would just click open and free him from his dark space. That damn word! It was all the word's fault!

He was to busy fuming that he didn't hear the soft click or the muffled swing as the door opened until he felt a slightly cooler breeze wash over his skin.

He flicked his eyes over to the door only to see the dark living room and a little standing fan rotate, the source of the cooler breeze on his skin cooler breeze.

He felt his mouth open slightly, awestruck that it had worked, unintentionally, but it had worked! Maybe it was the word? He would have to investigate later, because right now he had to go steal from old Miss Fig.

He carefully moved across the carpeted floor, not very worried about where he placed his feet, the carpet was less noisy than the old wood floor he had in his little cupboard.

Once across the living room he was faced with his biggest challenge, tile flooring and the door.

More than grateful that he was wearing socks, he softly put his weight on a foot that he had moved onto the tile flooring. Carefully he moved his other foot onto the floor and slowly put more pressure on it, evening his weight out once again.

Never lifting his feet up, he glided on the tile silently until he reached the door. He timidly reached out and touched the brass knob. Frantically looking around just to make sure, he opened the door, mindful not to close it all the way and made a beeline down the street and towards Miss Fig's house.

He was panting lightly when he had reached Miss Fig's house and most importantly, the garbage. Not wanting to alert the nosey neighborhood that he was up and about at this time of night, he slowly reached out and removed the top from the plastic garbage can.

He had to stand on his tiptoes to even get close to the top of the garbage can but he was only two, only a month a way from three and was too short to even peer down into the bin.

Suddenly arms wrapped around him and lifted him up. He almost cried out as his arms continued to flail, but a soothing voice that he recognized shushed him.

"Shh, Harry, it's alright, just tell me, what do you want with Miss Fig's garbage?" His aunt asked softly. He almost didn't believe it was her, but that voice did indeed belong to his one and only aunt. The only problem? She had never been this nice before, it scared him.

"No, no, don't be scared, just please answer the question my little nephew." She made another soothing noise as he whimpered in confusion and fear.

"S-she threw out a perfectly good dictionary and I wanted it…she wasn't going to use it! That's why she was throwing it out! I know it's not nice but!" He fumbled in trying to explain to his aunt that he was a good kid and that Miss Fig didn't want it or need it or else she wouldn't be throwing it out.

His aunt sighed lightly. "Don't worry, Vernon is not around you have nothing to fear alright? Now, let me lift you up and you can rummage through the garbage. But don't make this a regular thing okay?" He nodded quickly, all the more willing to please his aunt now.

As he was lifted he saw several books just thrown away on top of half eaten food. He spotted the book he had been eyeing. Snatching it up, his eyes were drawn to two more books that he desperately wanted.

"Aunt, can I take two more books?" With a soft yes from his aunt he grabbed the other two books and clutched his three books to his chest.

Finally he could understand his letters and all of those waiting for him in the shed.

As he and his aunt walked back to the house, he got to know his aunt a little better and understand her a little more, it made accepting the truth about his uncle and cousin all the more easier, they may not love him or want him, but his aunt held affection for him and that was one more person than what he had before.

When he was once again locked in his cupboard he thought of what he could do that would be 'bad' enough for him to be banished to the shed but not so much that it would cause him too much pain.

He fell asleep with Slytherin like plans floating in his head.

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><p>Two more letters were delivered to the boy-who-lived but instead of the shed where all the others ended up, the owls easily slipped into an open window and slid the letters under the cupboard door under the stairs.<p>

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><p>Please review they are the only reasons i post my stories here, i could just keep them to myself but i crave your review so please, if you wish to continue reading this fic, review for the greater good of this writer.<p>

Later loves! hugs and kisses for all those who review.


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